


New kind of thrill

by cigarettesandalcohol



Category: Men's Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Blow Jobs, Face Punching, Hair-pulling, Hate Sex, I Don't Even Know, Love/Hate, M/M, Mild Blood, Spit Kink, Swearing, Verbal Humiliation, and not enough of it is denied, kind of?, lots of swearing, there's a lot of implied and hinted stuff, well it's Carragher lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-20 00:03:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cigarettesandalcohol/pseuds/cigarettesandalcohol
Summary: The fucking smirk in the corner of the Scouser's lips is enough to make Gary want to grab him by the tie and drag him to the wall, push him against it and choke him, choke him while watching the smirk fade; he wanted to wipe that smug smile away, erase it, rip it apart.





	New kind of thrill

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: They have a very twisted relationship, though you can say they both consent and endorse and want it (and it has "a happy end"). It's somehow violent and aggressive - although they do seem to love each other? - and it might not be everyone's cup of tea. Keep that in mind.  
I love them together and I love the ship Carraville, and I wish them nothing but happy love. But this ship and its background were just screaming for an aggressive fic.
> 
> It supposedly takes place after that one bet they supposedly made after which they were forced to wear the opposite team's shirt (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tpck5wy7fcw), Gary wasn't very happy with it and tbh he acted a bit...too angry. 
> 
> Also, I recommend this video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=72aHqkhPu0U) of Gary with David Beckham if you want to have a good laugh.
> 
> Sorry for any possible mistakes in my not-so-perfect English, kudos and comments are welcomed!

"Who taught you the manners?" Jamie teased him as soon as he got up off his chair to finally lift his blazer from the ground where he'd tossed it a while ago. "The shirt is for charity." His voice had the mock-serious tone Neville hated, especially when Carra used it in the studio as if to make a fool of him, to show he's someone with a better experience or attitude. 

"Fuck your shirt, Carragher," he spat out without even turning. A voice of reason in the back of his head was telling him to calm the fuck down and breathe, leave Carragher's words without an answer as they were not even worth it, but this voice was silenced by the hateful feeling of disgust that spread all over his body like some blood-transmitted disease.

"It's just a shirt, Gary," Jamie followed him, not ready to give up on his teasing. "And it's not poisoned."

_God_, his voice was annoying. It was just that kind of high-pitch Gary couldn't stand right now, and everything about it (and about Carragher himself) made Gary want to peel off his skin to get rid of every single molecule in his body that has ever encountered the fucking Scouser.

"You're acting like a little brat. Look - " They were already in the hallway, and Gary was pacing towards the dressing room as fast as he could, but Jamie grabbed him by the arm. "It's just a joke."

"You Scousers have no fucking pride."

He pushed his foe-turned-colleague out of his way and entered the dressing room, leaving the door open as he knew Jamie will follow his suit and come in. Carragher indeed did, and he closed the door carefully behind him. He stopped for a second, thinking. He heard the chair creak a little as Gary sat down. He smiled, locked the door and then turned to face Gary.

"What are you doing?" Neville asked, straightening his back in the chair. Normally, this room was full of people and the atmosphere around here was hectic, paced and almost claustrophobic as everyone always rushed to make everything look perfect before the program starts but now after all the recording was done, they hardly ever met anyone in the empty corridors of the building. And they were both well aware of _that_.

"Look at you," Jamie started, talking as slowly as he was taking his steps towards Neville's chair. His accent was even stronger now when he was putting such an emphasis on every single word. "An adult acting like a kid on a playground when somebody stole his toy scoop. I thought you grew out of this ridiculous hate already."

Gary's eyes were measuring him and Jamie could feel his heartbeat getting rapid under this well-known stare. It was taking him back, as well as the shirts they changed tonight, the crests in front of their eyes and Gary's irrationally hateful gaze. No, he never grew out of this. And he never will. And it felt amazing to Jamie - to know that just a few words and a smug smile were enough to drive Neville crazy. Just like during the old times. There was something childish about it, Jamie couldn't deny that - but also something raw and passionate that turned him on more that he would admit.

Fuck, he hated that rat face of his Mancunian counterpart, that wrinkled forehead, that slot between his eyebrows that even his admirers made fun of - he just wanted to grab that face with both hands and - 

_Fuck, he hated him_. And the more he thought about him, the longer he watched his face, his lips twisted in a terribly disgusted frown, the heavier his chest felt, and he needed to get it all out.

"Jesus Christ, Gary," he whispered, standing right in front of Gary's chair. "You should have seen your face when you put that shirt on. Where do you store all that aggression in such a little body?" He touched Gary's cheek and chin and took him by it and made him tilt his head back a little. He heard his loud breathing full of held-back anger and watched Gary's nostrils get bigger as he was fuming._ God_, the man was a pathetic,_ pathetic_ whiny little bitch, just as he's always been. Sometimes it was easy to forget what they have both been through in their playing days and sometimes, they were just two colleagues enjoying a healthy rivalry at work - but once the door was locked and Gary's eyes turned this kind of dark, they were taking a trip down the memory lane again and_ he hated Neville_. Not when they were in a studio, not when they were at work, not when they were getting ready for Monday Night Football - but when they were alone and when the environment _was like that_. It was a twisted game they played (_or was it really a game_? Carragher asked himself on more than one occasion), a game where no rules were discussed and no boundaries agreed upon. There was no signal nor safeword. It was just like life itself.

"Watch your mouth, Carragher," Gary spoke in a blood-freezing manner, staring up in Carra's eyes. "Or I'll teach you what the real _red_ tastes like."

Jamie smirked, running his thumb over Gary's lower lip. "So many words, Neville. So little action."

Gary flew out of his seat in a split second and grabbed Jamie by his shoulders; it all happened so fast Jamie couldn't really process it all in the little time given to him; there was a strong grasp of his hand, some heavy swearing spat right in his face and a punch, it felt like his brain buzzed a little, and he felt the blood rushing to his face, even before he had to take a hold of the back of the chair to support himself because the world was spinning. He didn't think of the pain at first, he didn't even feel it. A world-class punch, that was the first thought that ran through his head. A brilliant punch.

He raised his hand to wipe his nose and there was a familiar feeling of something warm pooling at the top of his lips. 

"_You fucking cunt_," Gary panted out. Jamie looked at the back of his hand stained with dark blood. _Now_ it started to hurt a little - the pain in his right cheek and in his nose; but it was nothing terrible, he could take it. The arousal was better. 

"Very good, Gary," he said, smirking again. 

The fucking smirk in the corner of the Scouser's lips is enough to make Gary want to grab him by the tie and drag him to the wall, push him against it and choke him, choke him while watching the smirk fade; he wanted to wipe that smug smile away, erase it, rip it apart.

"Is this what they taught you in the Man U dressing room?" Jamie asked, wiping more of the blood from his nose away with his hand. Shit, he should have known, he should have known and brought a tissue or something - 

Gary pulled his own folded handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket and threw it straight in Carra's face. "Pull yourself together ya fecking langer."

Jamie wiped the remaining blood off his face and held the piece of cloth under his nose for a moment while talking. "Did Keano taught you all this, Gary? Wouldn't be surprised." He sniffed, encouraged by no more blood coming out of his nose. "You were just a bitch in that dressing room, am I right? A whore."

"Like you can talk."

Carragher grabbed him by the throat; it was a surprising turn considering the punch and the overall balance, but he just seized the opportunity and wasn't willing to let it go. "Still better than a Mancunian rat slut," he said. "You're a lifetime whore, Gary. It's in your veins."

"Shut up."

There wasn't much use telling Carragher to shut up when he was the one holding Gary by the shirt.

"How many times did you suck them all off, Neville? Your whole fucking class of '92. You were a little bitch back then, weren't you? Everyone knew that. I knew that. Liverpool knew that. Arsenal knew that. City knew that. It was a public secret. Gary Neville is a whore. Am surprised there wasn't a chant for that. You had it written all over your fucking face - _the one that sucks every cock off_ \- " Gary tried to push Jamie away but the Scouser was far too strong for him. "Tell me, Gary. Were you just a little slut for them, weren't you? I know that face - You were Keane's bitch, weren't you? That's why he defended you so much. 'Cos you can't take care of yourself."

"Wipe that fucking blood off your face. You look disgusting," Gary hissed between his teeth. Yeah, it was getting better - his heart was racing and he couldn't take his eyes off Carragher's face that was so close, just a few inches away from his. 

James grabbed him by the chin while still holding the blood-stained handkerchief and for a millisecond, Gary thought about the blood getting on his shirt and jacket - as if that would make any difference. He'll end up with his clothes ruined anyway in a much worse way. "Tell me, Gary. Tell me about your cocksucking adventures and achievements. That's why they kept you in the team, right? To keep everyone happy."

It was so easy to get under Neville's skin, James always thought he knew all the ways and still, every time he found a new one to get Gary fuming, panting heavily and clench his fists, bite his lip and then spit out some Mancunian slang word in the worst _fookin_' accent.

It was their foreplay.

"What are you gonna do - spit on me?" Gary's eyes remained defiant. "Then spit, Carragher. That's all you can do."

Corners of Jamie's lips curled up and he pulled Gary closed by his tie, so close that his lips were almost touching the smaller man's ear. "After you swallow."

The sound of those word sent shivers down Gary's spine, and that, combined with the warmth of Carragher's body and breath, was providing the most delightful combination. He almost moaned, giving up pretending and letting his real feelings and desires show but he bit his lip and forced himself to hold it back. _Not yet_. He loved this way too much to stop now.

The need to kiss Jamie (_that Scouse scum_, the thumping in his head told him) grew stronger with every passing second. Just to hold that ugly wrinkled old face and get a grip of that hair, pull it and - 

_Fuck, he wanted him._

"Get down."

There was no way he was gonna do this tonight, not when his blood was boiling from seeing Carragher smirk with the annoying confidence he always seemed to have. He grabbed the Scouser's blue tie and held it right at the knot, thankful for the dress-code. He always loved the official and noble atmosphere of wearing a suit with a tie - in a morbid contrast to what they were doing in that, all their fighting and swearing and fucking, it was a match made in heaven. "Not me, Carragher," he said in a low voice, trying to sound menacing but his own voice was hoarse from the emotions he was experiencing. "I'm not gonna suck off some bloody old Scouse cunt like you."

He watched every nerve in Jamie's face to recognize the one moment when the passionate hate will inevitably turn into a hateful passion. They eye-contact was so intense, deep and meaningful that Gary ignored everything else, and when Jamie's hand moved it took him by surprise; especially when he felt the firm touch through the cloth of his pants. "Look at that, Gary. Getting excited?" He smirked, rubbing his hand in between Gary's legs.

"Put those dirty hands to some use, Carragher." Gary's breathing was getting shorter, he knew he was ready for whatever Carragher might have in the store next but his body naturally demanded more attention than just some sloppy rubbing through the clothes. 

"You want me to?" Jamie asked, raising his eyebrows. His question, provocative just by itself, was accompanied by his fingers getting on the line of the zip of Gary's pants.

"Use your mouth. At least you'll shut up." Gary's eyes have been fixed on Jamie's lips for a decent while; he was starving for a kiss but he didn't want to ruin the moment of electrifying tension and arousal between them. "_Come on, James_." It came out sounding almost pathetic; the last thing Gary would want now was to sound like begging for it.

"You didn't get many blowjobs in your life, did you? I'll have some pity for you - " He knew exactly that belittling and looking down at Gary was the one thing that would guarantee him the wanted reaction. "You don't mind being sucked off by _an old Scouse cunt_? What would your Manc pals say?" He pulled the zip of Neville's trousers down. As soon as he touched the button, Gary exhaled shakily. "And your fucking boyfriend_ Becksy_?" Jamie continued in a fake concerned voice. "You two fags were really way too obvious - " He skillfully managed to unbutton the pants with just one hand; while with the other, he still held Gary by the tie. "Did he at least suck you off from time to time when you behaved? He looked like that kind of a bloke - "

"You really are just filth, Carragher. Nothing but disgraceful scum."

And Carragher spat on him. It was the most ridiculous yet most wanted reaction, and Gary's heart, already racing at an unhealthy pace, pounded in his ears. This was the last drop, the last thing, and the moment was complete. He grabbed Jamie's shoulders, pushing him down. There was not even a sign of resistance. Hard talk, no real power, Gary thought. But he knew what this all was about. They've been down this road. It was never pretty, but none of them cared. It was fulfilling in a bizarre, perverted way. Why they were doing this, Gary had no idea. It just - happened. Their on-screen banter and never-ending dialogues on social media might have been fun, but there was always more under the rivals-turned-colleagues surface. Their little arguments in the studio were fun but when the cameras were off, they just kept on going. And they ended up there.

Some other colleagues loved to blow off steam by going to the pub or to the gym together, and they enjoyed these conventional meet-ups as well, but their secret meetings had much more passion and power and something about them was just intoxicating. Once Gary learned what it feels like to be held against the wall by Carragher, in full suit, being jerked off by that fucking Scouser, bite in his shoulder and then cum all over his posh cufflinks - Jesus Christ was there any better way to blow off some steam? It was taking them back, to the times when none of them had other life than football, love for their clubs and hatred for the rivals. Nobody else would understand what Gary felt in the moment like this - nobody but a man whose life and career mirrored his own almost perfectly. They had their private lives, families, kids, and punditry but this - this was like turning back time, being young, passionate and raw again, and feeling alive. Everyday life was perfect, normal, boring and something was missing there, something that used to make them want to die for their clubs every single weekend match, the real passion, the real feelings, the real pain and love, and hate and happiness. 

Carragher accepted this game - _or was it the other way around_? Gary couldn't remember. One night, their banter and arguing didn't end with the show, and they continued bickering afterwards - and then, it just happened. They didn't plan it and they never attempted to discuss what was it exactly that made them want to scream at each other, insult, slap, punch, fight and fuck - but they both knew this was a mutual feeling, and it was special because nobody else would understand, nobody else could be part of it. It wasn't the violence itself that turned them on (and neither of them could imagine having this kind of foreplay with their spouses, ever), nor the suits and ties - it was the lifelong passion for the club and the game and for someone, who knew it as well. Gary was sure that if he ripped Jamie's clothes open and then cut in his chest, he wouldn't find a heart there, just the Liverpool crest. And he knew Carragher had to think the same about him and the Red Devils badge. 

Gary wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. He didn't need to hold Carra down, he knew what he had to do and was more than willing to obey. Their fights for dominance served only one purpose - to get them excited and ready, to make the blood pump in their veins, to make them feel the adrenaline. 

"You've been hard since you got in those pants, huh?" Carragher asked, looking up at Gary and locking their eyes. Gary felt it - the familiar feeling of arousal spiked with hate and he wanted to kick Carragher in the balls while at the same time he wanted his filthy mouth on his throbbing cock. 

"Shut up and do your job, James."

He didn't need to say it twice. Jamie's smirk in the corner of his lips returned as he pulled Gary's pants down to his ankles and Gary actually shivered every time he felt Carra's fingers or breath brush against his bare skin. "For fuck's sake, get on with this," he mumbled as he grabbed a handful of the kneeling man's hair. 

"Fucking hell you're whiny."

His grip of Carra's hair grew rougher with every second, and although it wasn't even intentional, he soon realized Carragher won't complain. He just gritted his teeth while looking up in Gary's eyes, not willing to show any weakness as proof he's the tough one. After all, Gary was the all talk and no action one. But he moaned just the way he laughed - the same obnoxiously loud and high-pitched way. But it felt good - looking up while finally taking the cock in his mouth, Jamie always got the see his greatest rival and most hated opponent as he would have never imagined ten years ago; with eyes closing at the pleasure, with shaking lips letting out a muttered _'fuuuuck'_ , with Gary trying to collect at least a bit of his dignity and control himself. 

Jamie moved on forward to have better access to the object of interest - and to ease the pain of his hair being pulled a bit - and Gary took it as a nod of approval and pulled his head closer, not giving a fuck about anything called _a gag reflex_. Jamie braced himself. _Alright, he thought almost mischievously. You want it rough - then have it. _Gary exhaled, whispering a quiet '_fuck_' again, though now it sounded much more calm and peaceful. Jamie would smirk if he could. _Your lack of vocabulary is concerning for a TV pundit_, he thought as he pulled away, just to bob his head down in a moment. There was no way Gary would last long, no. He never did. Not after a heated argument, not after they fought a little, not when they were still here, in this building. He was so easily affected by everything. Just like in his playing days. Then again, Carra thought, this wasn't supposed to be a long cuddling session. They weren't making out and they surely weren't making love. This wasn't about the time it lasted for; this was about the heat of the moment. 

"_Fuck, Jamie_ \- "

When Gary turned to 'Jamie' instead of 'James' or 'Carragher' (or the good old _Scouser_ or _Scouse cunt_), things were serious. Even Carragher raised his eyebrows in surprise at how little was needed for Gary to change his manners now - Jesus Christ, he's barely even sucked him and he was already biting his lips and fighting back the needed relief.

He let the cock slip out of his mouth but he kept the leaking tip right there, touching his lips. "Come on, Gary," he purred, carefully choosing the strongest accent he was capable of. "Come on. I want your cum. Can you cum for me? On my face, Gary. All over my face."

Neville's nails dug into his scalp when Gary came, almost sobbing, with his ridiculously high-pitched moans, sounding more like some twenty-year-old girl. Jamie closed his eyes, feeling the spurts on his cheeks and chin and lips, and he couldn't help but take the tip of Gary's cock back between his lips and lick, getting to swallow at least some of the cum. He felt the spasms in Gary's body and he loved it, just like every time. He loved the humiliation and he loved their shared wordless understanding for this kind of letting all the frustration, aggression and passion out now that they didn't get to play football anymore.

"Fuck, Jamie, stop, stop - " Gary, catching his breath, pushed him away, probably oversensitive now, after his climax. He really looked spent; he loosened his tie and stepped back, looking at the mess that was Carragher's face. "Oh fuck - "

"Your lack of vocabulary is quite concerning for a TV pundit," James finally got to smirk as he got up from the floor.

He pulled the handkerchief Gary have him from his pocket and carefully, not wanting to get the blood back on his face, he wiped his cheeks. Gary watched him and something about him just seemed much more - normal? relaxed? friendly? When he finally was able to take in a normal breath, he even smiled at that joke. "God, James - "

"You should find a new job, Neville. Go back to being a manager. And learn a new language."

**Author's Note:**

> Join the ship that sails at: protect-daniel-james.tumblr.com


End file.
